Blood
by Prisoner1602
Summary: Gregory, Stan. Violence, Character Death. Have fun.


See, I really don't know how this all went down. But dude, I think it had something to do with Kyle…. On second thought, I think it might involve Wendy. I mean, I know our relationship's kinda rocky, but I guess it might bother some people. I know Cartman doesn't really like our on-and-off dating, he wants Wendy for himself… But I don't think he'd go to these lengths. And I mean, I guess Kyle might be jealous, he came out of the closet last year and he's always been kind of… infatuated with me, but I don't think he'd kidnap me and tie me up in a basement, especially one that reeks of blood and dirt. I just can't come up with anyone else that would hate me enough to do this. I mean, the only other person that might is Clyde, 'cause of the whole football thing; he was the star player until I came along…. But he'd so wrapped up with Token that I really don't think he'd care.

So yeah, you see my predicament. I'm in some strange basement, and I don't even know why. Or by who. Or for how long, since my arms feel like they're gonna fall off from being tied behind me for so long, so I guess whoever did this knocked me out to get me here. I finally just slumped back against the wall, taking inventory of the scratches; I guess whoever did this wasn't at all gentle with me. There was dried blood on my face, and I think I could feel a deep gash above my eye, like something sharp had hit me. I guess it's to be expected, but it still kind of shocks me. Like, seriously, who would do this to me? I mean, I love animals, I don't go out of my way to hurt people. I have a good group of friends (Minus Cartman, but… well, whatever.), I try to care when Kenny dies, and it's not like I smoke or sit on my front porch shooting small animals and people! I mean, I'm not racist, or homophobic or anything. There's nothing that anyone can hate me for!

After a little of sitting still, I shift, and my hand hits something thick, wet, and sticky. It almost feels like mud, but the smell of blood is way too strong for it to only be wet dirt. I scrambled away, as best as I could all tied up, managing to find a fairly clean patch of floor, wishing whoever put me here had turned on the light. I soon think better of that though, figuring that if there's the stench of blood here, there's got to be blood and probably guts and stuff…

Needless to say, I'm totally shocked when I see who it is that kidnapped me framed in light at the top of the basement steps.

The light kind of makes it hard to tell who it is, but he's tall- taller than me, I'd say, and thin. Not like, emaciated, not like Kenny, but he's a far cry from Cartman. Thank god, at least I'm not going to have to deal with that fatass holding me hostage for something stupid like 'Being a Jew Supporter' or something stupid like that. 'Course, with the light behind him, I can't make out his face, but I think he's wearing an orange top, and I swear to god, he had a sword hanging from his hip. And you know, that scares the shit outta me. I mean, an insane guy with a sword, and me tied up? No thanks.

Whoever it is finally walks down the stairs, flicking on a light once he reaches the bottom. And of course, since I've been in the dark, I can't see anything for awhile, and when I finally crack open my eyes, and holy shit, I'm going to die, I know it; Gregory Thorne is standing in front of me, somehow looking so fucking perfect in the midst of the gore in the basement.

With that, it clicks into place- This is Ze Mole's basement, he must've hit me in the face with his stupid shovel, tied me up, and dumped me in this basement. And apparently, he's done it before, judging by the blood and body parts around the dark room. There's the expected blood, of course. And all the mud, too. Near the stairs- well, more like spread over the stairs- is something that looks like what I've imagined brains to look like. There's a small pile of body parts in one corner, mostly arms and legs, though I can see some ribs sticking out of the pile. Nearer to the middle of the room, surrounding a support pole of the ceiling, there's a mess of what could be intestines and something that looks way too close to a heart to be anything but that; I can't help it at that sight, I immediately lean away and vomit, earning an impatient tut from Gregory.

But I really can't help it; Everywhere I look there's more gore, more things that make me want to blow chunks. But god, I know he did this on purpose, the bastard. He must've; the only place I can look without seeing so much gore is at him, and even that's not the best idea if I want to keep my food where it belongs. But I can't stand staring at the remains of the people that have been there before me, so I suck it up at glare up at the blonde, trying not to look like I feel close to wetting myself out of fear.

"I always was a fool for sending boys to do a man's job. I suppose you could call it a flaw, but I find that the real fault lies with those who fail- with those who allow a comrade to die in their arms without doing a thing to help. Please, you should have been the one caught and murdered by those dogs… But I digress; it isn't my right to rub failure in others' faces." The blonde almost seemed bitter, behind that perfectly maintained tone, behind that calm look.

Honestly, I think I'd rather deal with Ze Mole right now. If he wanted you dead, he'd just kill you… Gregory seemed to be the type who would rather draw out the pain rather than just let you die.

Really, I don't know what his problem is. I mean, It wasn't my fault that Ze Mole died; Cartman could be blamed for that.… Actually, Gregory himself could be blamed if I thought back far enough; the blonde was that sent us to get the French boy to help with the mission. And it wasn't even as if I had been the one to hold him as he took his last few breaths that day; Kyle had done that. I tried to grasp what he was implying about the fact of rubbing failure in someone's face, but he beat me to the realization.

"You know that Wendy is still infatuated with you, that she merely used me to spur you into being what she wanted back when we were children. You took her back after the war and rubbed your victory in my face, Stanley. I don't know if you know it or not, but no one takes what is mine and mocks me with it; I don't take kindly to sore winners or to failure." The taller blonde smirked a little, and all I can think is that he's been spending way too much time with Ze Mole, because he seriously looks fucking nuts right now. That might be my imagination, though, since I blink a few times and he's standing there, looking as calm as ever, though that thin, razor sharp sword is drawn and resting under my chin.

I know what's coming next, and I really can't make myself speak; Gregory probably wouldn't care, anyway.. And the sword is just way to close to my throat for me to want to risk anything. So I just kinda stay silent, hoping he'll get bored or that someone will come and find me. It's a hopeless wish, though; I know that if Christophe kidnapped me, he made sure to do it when no one would see or care.

All I know now is that there's a new slice on my throat, and the look on Gregory's face says that it's no where near deep enough to cause me lasting harm. The sword's tugging at my clothes now, slicing though the slightly ragged, brown jacket I never had the heart to replace with something more stylish. There goes my shirt, and I'm left with my clothes hanging off my shoulders, the sword tracing each muscle of my torso. He nicks me a few times, and I have the distinct feeling that he's doing this just to taunt me. He isn't saying anything, and that worries me. See, it's not that I'm afraid (Though I admit, I'm terrified of this male in front of me), but… more so that I don't know what he has planned. He's always been a question mark. Like, Cartman will come up with a massive scheme, Kyle will just yell and carry on… Kenny gets all quiet and won't speak, not even muffled, and Shelley beats the crap out of you. The Goths will kidnap you and send you somewhere, and Craig just flips you off, but you know that kid's gonna snap one day. But hell, with Christophe the worst you face is a quick, if messy, death… But Gregory… No one knows what he's capable of. I have to wonder if even Ze Mole knows what the blonde can do….

I'm brought back to attention when Gregory pulls the sword up my chest, leaving a sort of deep cut- again, not enough to really damage me, but it's spilling blood and it hurts a lot. I watch his face, and though he still is calm, I'm staring up in shock, trying not to move a muscle as he rests the sword on my cheek. It's weird as fuck, really, cause I can't really see the tip that well, and it's freaking me out. I mean, he has to be pretty good with that sword if he really carries it around; it can't just be a fashion statement.

Seconds later, and I'm screaming my head off, cause there's a goddamned SWORD in my mother fucking eye. Gregory just stares, seeming dimly pleased at the blood soaking my cheek. So I'm left staring at him through one eye, watching as he somehow pries my eye out of the socket, and I soft of taper my scream into a hysterical laugh, unable to think that Kenny's full of shit for saying losing an eye doesn't hurt. Oh, and now Gregory's looking at me like I'm insane for laughing, and I can tell it's making him angry; for as much as the guy understands, he can't figure out why I'm laughing, it seems. Either way, I'm soon shut up, 'cause he's got that sword up against my throat this time.

A door slams somewhere upstairs, and I think for a minute I'm saved, until I hear the voice of whoever just came home. "'Ey! Gregory! Where are you, you stupeed little beetch? We 'ave a meession! I'm not going to wait for you to geet all dressed and sheet! 'Urry up!"

That seems to strike something in the blonde, and he sighed softly, calling up to Ze Mole. "Just a moment, Christophe!" There's a smash, like breaking glass, and I have to guess it's because the brunette still doesn't like the name. "I'm taking care of something. Just a minute!"

I'm left staring at the sword again, shrieking in pain, loud enough that Ze Mole shouts something about the noise, the sword deep in my chest, before Gregory yanks it out, giving me a look that says I'm going to die in this basement…. I almost wish I had bled on him, since I'm bleeding out pretty quickly… I'm left there as Gregory reaches down to clean his sword off on my jacket, then as he turns to walk back upstairs to calm Christophe down about their next mission…

And you know... I never really did anything to hurt Gregory, not on purpose. Wendy was the manipulator, the one that pitted us against each other, always urging one of us on to provide herself some amusement…

My last thought though, as Gregory pulls the basement door closed and shuts off the light, is that I really, really hope someone finds me before Christophe gets me; I don't want to be more blood confetti in this basement.


End file.
